Winnebago wanderer, festival femme fatale, to know this poem is to know me.
“You’d sing too if you found yourself in a place like this
You wouldn’t worry about whether you were as good as Ray Charles or Edith Piaf
You’d sing You’d sing not for yourself but to make a self out of the old food rotting in the astral bowel and the loveless thud of your own breathing
You’d become a singer faster than it takes to hate a rival’s charm and you’d sing, darling you’d sing too”